Event Rider
by PeacockBlue
Summary: What happens when an eventer ends up in Alagaesia? I can't say what's going to happen, I'm making it up as I go along. One this that IS for certain is that there is lots of elf-mockery of varying strengths. Set about 100 years after the events of Inheritance. Enjoy! Currently on hiatus due to exams and re-write for the first few chapters planned!
1. Chapter 1

"_Don't stop me now!" _I sang along to my lorry's CD player as I made my way down the winding countryside roads. Queen music has always been among my favourites; no matter how old it is, I love it.

It was one of _those _days, you know the ones I mean: the ones that start with what seems to be suspicious normality, so that when you look back, you think; _I really should have seen this coming_. Apart from the fuss and kerfuffle of moving yards, it was an average day.

I checked my sat nav. Only a few miles to go, then I would be at my new, larger, better appointed eventing yard. I had sold my old place in favour of a new farm with 275 acres of pasture, a cross country course, a totally up-to-date horse walker, two surfaced arenas – one outdoor and one indoor – and a lunging arena. I was going ahead with my best six horses, their tack, feed, various grooming kits, Parelli stuff and my competition wear. I was driving the largest lorry, affectionately dubbed the 'party mobile' - it had the Wii, plus games, a karaoke machine, a TV and DVDs, two big, loud speakers and a very good fridge and larder, both full of yummy (vegetarian) nibbles. My parties are legendary on the eventing circuit.

"Turn right," ordered my oh-so-annoying sat nav. I would have ripped it out and smashed it up if it weren't so reliable and essential to getting _anywhere_. As I started signalling, (as if _anyone_ would be _here_) I noticed a patch of shimmering air dead ahead. I discounted it as a mirage of the unusually bright, sunny summer's day (this is _England_, after all) and drove on through it.

As I passed through, I was fiddling with the CD player, swapping the CD over, so I failed to observe the change between a picturesque, if difficult, stretch of countryside road and a gloomy coniferous forest. When I looked up, I finally saw what was happening and gently applied the brakes, checking GGTV to make sure that my horses were all right. I resolved to go out and check what, exactly, was going on. Oh, and where I was would be a good idea too.

I descended from the cab, having turned off the engine, and inspected my surroundings. Glancing up, I saw that it was a bright sunny day, but that the sun was having a hard time filtering through the needles of the towering trees around me. I pulled out the steps and unlocked the jockey door to check on my lovely warmbloods. As I entered the lorry, I saw a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye, but brushed it off – my mind was probably playing tricks on me. I entered the horse area and, seeing they were unsettled, began murmuring nonsense to calm them down.

I exited, locking the door and replacing the steps.

"Slytha," a voice shouted. I collapsed, the world going dark.


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke to voices around me, conversing in a strange language. Now, when I was at school, I was considered quite the linguist, despite having broken down in tears in the middle of a German lesson because I simply could not make head or tail of it. No offense to Germans, or anything – I love the country's ability with dressage horses and food (Black Forest Gateau: yum!) - I just dislike the harsh-sounding language. This one, however, sounded almost like music. Despite never having heard it before, I could almost begin to figure out what it meant.

I moved my head around a little. _Ouch!_ I could tell that I would have an egg there later on. I was lying across the passengers' seats in the cab, rather than on the ground of the forest. _That's odd_; I thought indistinctly, _I should be sprawled out breathing dust right now._ I sat up slowly, looking around. Halfway across the clearing, I could see a huddle of people conferring amongst themselves. I gingerly clambered down onto my feet and unsteadily made my way across to them, tripping over randomly placed roots and just managing to catch myself. As I got closer, I was paying so much attention to eavesdropping, I didn't notice until too late…

"Who put that tree there?!" I demanded, rubbing my poor, poor throbbing forehead. It hadn't taken so much pounding since… last week, I think it was. They all turned to look at me. "OK, OK, I didn't look where I was going. Happy?" One of them opened his mouth, closed it and then re-opened. "Enough with the goldfish impression," I ordered. "Spit it out!"

With difficulty, he managed to rein in his astonishment at being spoken to in such a way long enough to inquire "Who are you? How did you slip past the patrols? What is your purpose here?"

"Would you mind telling me where 'here' is?" I retorted "And as for my name, I (*dramatic pause*) am Jasmine Wills, eventer extraordinaire. Winner of the Grand Slam in 2019 and, if you want an autograph, you have to write to my home or wait in line like anyone else. Capiche?" I said the last word with a sassy flair, one hand on my hip. I had to show them that I am _not_ to be messed with, no matter how badly concussed (Yet. Again.) I may or may not be. Shocked stares from all round. I grinned to myself internally. Gaining respect? Done. Playing against any stereotypes my audience may have? Done.

"You are in Du Weldenvarden, the home of my people," the one that had spoken before replied after a pause. "Jasmine Wills-"

I cut him off. "Jasmine. Just Jasmine." I wondered what he meant by 'my people'. Looking again, I could see that they were all fairly tall and their faces were catlike and annoyingly good looking.

"Jasmine," he said, without missing a beat, "You have made your way past many of the patrols formed to ensure the safety of my people from those who would wish to harm them." I was having a hard time filtering the formal speech patterns out to get to what he was actually going on about. "Patrols that have not failed in centuries, and _you_, a human woman, somehow made it past them with that, that _thing_!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at my (very nice) personalised Oakley Supremacy.

"Hey!" I replied, outraged, "Don't diss the party mobile!" yes, I said that, out loud, to perfect strangers (for strangers, they looked pretty perfect), rather than just not saying a word. I would kick myself about that later on, out of sight. "That lorry is the 'flagship' of my little fleet of horseboxes." Suddenly remembering the top athletes inside, I asked "Could you excuse me a moment?" and rushed off to unload them without waiting for an answer.

The ramp down, I proceeded to unload them one by one and tie them to my lorry, three on one side, and three on the other. I gave them a hay net each and then returned to the little DMC (deep meaningful conversation) going on. I ignored their looks of admiration at my best mounts until one of them asked "Why are you travelling with so many war horses?"

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, pinched the top of my nose and replied in the sort of voice used when talking to idiots and very small children. "They're not war horses. They're my best competition horses and I would not even _think_ of doing something as _stupid_ as sending such valuable, talented animals into anywhere even _half_ as dangerous as a war zone." Her question had made my estimation of the group's average IQ plummet to single figures. I mean, seriously. Who can _possibly_ mistake an exquisite string of eventers for war horses, the trusting cannon fodder of the equestrian world that haven't been used in a century? Hello! Where were _you_ when tanks were rolled out?

Seeing their quizzical looks, I assumed "With my head stuck down a hole," was the most likely answer, so I resolved to end this topic. "Do you know anywhere I could stable them? I can't leave them in the lorry overnight, and I'm worried they might hurt themselves." Having stepped the sass down a notch or two, I felt I got a much more positive result. They looked at each other, making eye contact and nodding their heads slightly. All of a sudden, I felt an alien presence in my mind. It was pretty uncomfortable, and it felt like something was… well, sifting through my memories. Needless to say, I consider my head to be private property. Anyone caught trespassing _will_ be persecuted. And I do mean _per_secuted, not prosecuted. Subtle difference; one's more fun than the other. I pictured a knife and stabbed it in the general direction of the intruder. I saw one of them (the mouthpiece of the group) wince in pain. _Oh, yes!_ I triumphantly thought. _One nil to me_.

Having conferred with each other, the mouthpiece/intruder stepped towards me. "We are happy with the fact that you are who you say you are." My poor, tortured noggin was still trying to make sense of that convoluted sentence when he continued "We shall escort you and your mounts to the nearest city, Ellesmera. This is a rare honour for a human, to see the elven capital, so make the most of it." Elven! Where have I just driven into?! This sounds like a fantasy story! And what did he mean, _human_? He said it like the way I would say 'bag full of dog doo'.

I quickly chucked my horses back into the lorry. Well, maybe 'chucked' is the wrong word, but, to be fair, it was a quick turnaround for them. I got into the driver's seat and waved them over.

"I only need one of you to guide me, but there's space for all of you, if you pick two to come up here in the front and the rest of you go in the living space. Don't worry about pollution: this is a hydrogen fuel cell – the only waste product's water!" They declined my offer, saying that their watch (huh? Who actually uses that word to describe anything but a small, portable clock?) wasn't over yet. Negative-IQ was chosen to accompany me to the city. I showed her how to open the door and motioned for her to sit. "Don't worry, I won't bite!" I joked when she sat on the edge of the furthest passenger seat.

When she told me to stop, following too many irritating instructions that made me long for the nasal voice of the sat nav, I cut the engine and looked around. She must be mistaken; this was just another bit of forest. Then, I really looked.


	3. Chapter 3

All around us, the trees bulged in odd ways. What looked ungainly and unattractive merged into elegant homes. It felt a bit like when you look at an optical illusion, and then look at it again. The world seemed to shift.

"Stay here," my guide ordered. She walked off, leaving me alone. Despite having been informed that this was their capital city, I couldn't see anyone around. It was too quiet, too still. Even the trees appeared to be holding their breath. I felt uneasy about it; there were no birds, no bugs, nothing that I would expect to find in the heart of and ancient forest.

While I had been musing over the unnatural stillness of my surroundings, Negative-IQ had disappeared. The last I had seen of her was when she was gliding gracefully away behind me. You know how sometimes you meet someone and you instantly dislike them? This was one of those times. She was too beautiful, too elegant, too graceful and, quite frankly, too stuck up to like.

Just as I started to panic, she returned, led by a very dark brunette woman. Her hair looked almost black, in stark contrast to Negative-IQ's silver blond Malfoy Senior look-alike hair. Great. I was stuck somewhere populated by freakishly perfect – what was the word Mouthpiece/Intruder used? Oh, yeah, elven, that was it – elves. Just fab. Please don't mind my little pity party, it's just that I've been used to having everyone watching me wherever I go – my long black hair, recently tinted red, deep blue eyes and oh-so-pale skin that annoyingly refuses to tan tend to do that. I know I have an unusual colouring; not many people have black hair and blue eyes. Not without contacts and a couple of packets, anyway. As I was saying, before I started rambling on, I'm used to being the most stunning one in the room, with all eyes on me. The coming weeks would be hard for me, I could tell.

"So, Jasmine," the dark-haired one began, her accent giving my name a lilting rhythm, "How did you get here?"

"I have no idea what-so-ever." I replied, making a real effort to tone down my irritation; it wasn't her fault my daily quotient of patience had already been used up.

She turned to Blondie, "It is as you said," she commented. She already knew? OK, it _was_ her fault after all. I closed my eyes and, again, took a deep breath in, exhaling only when I was completely and utterly sure that I was not about to scream. Days like this one do that to me.

"If you already knew, then _why_ did you _ask_?" I demanded, visibly only barely keeping control. "_Why_ did you waste time with that question? And I didn't endure Blondie's oh-so-irritating directions just to be talked down to," I had decided that Negative-IQ would not be a good way to refer to her. Out loud, at least. "I only agreed to come so that my horses would have a comfortable place to stay while I try to figure out where I am and how to get home."

"And where is your home?" she gently inquired.

"In the south of England, around the New Forest." I replied cautiously, almost making it a question. If my guess was right, this would mean nothing to her. "And I would really like to get them settled down ASAP. My horses, I mean."

"I have never heard of England, and there are no new forests here. You must have strayed far from your path."

_No shit, Sherlock,_ I thought, thoroughly unimpressed.

"But I was warned in advance of your arrival and I have had six stables made ready. Although we prefer our horses to be able to roam free through the forest, we understand that visiting humans appreciate their mounts to be locked away while they rest." Huh? How did she know I was coming and the number of horses with me? I didn't see anyone running ahead and Negative-IQ wasn't gone for nearly long enough for six stables to have been prepared. And who lets their horses loose the whole time, without fences or anything to stop them getting away? And again with the 'humans' thing, although she said it without any perceptible distaste. I was feeling increasingly on edge.

"Hold on, wait. You know my name. Shouldn't you return the favour?" I asked.

"Very well," she replied, somewhat impatiently (_I_ thought) "I am Arya Drottning, queen of my people." Taking in the visible aura of power, silver circlet and the way my guide obviously deferred to her, I could easily see that it was true. I began to unload my top eventers, yet again tying them up on the side of my party mobile. Once all six were safely off and tied, I turned to face her.

Lifting an eyebrow (thanks to _hours_ of practice in front of a mirror. Yes. I used to have no life. At all) I responded "Well, Arya Drottning -"

"Drottning is a title, not part of my name," she snapped, cutting me off.

"Well, just Arya, show me to the stables and I'll get them settled down while _you_ tell me about this place." It wasn't a request. She knew, and she knew that I knew that she knew. (Got a headache yet?) From the look on her face, I could see that it had been a very long time since she had last received an order.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks so, so, sooo much to those who have reviewed, shame on you to those who haven't! I know the chapters are short, but wouldn't you prefer short, regularly updated chapters than long ones with monthly updates?**

I must say I enjoyed the look of astonishment on her face. I had some difficulty holding back a giggle as I turned and untied my horses, throwing three leadropes to the ridiculously perfect, catlike elves behind me. I turned the leadrope of one of the remaining three into reins (easy enough – tie to one side of the headcollar and clip on to the other), vaulted on and led the other two, following the elves in front of me. Negative-IQ was leading two and Just Arya only one. (Slacker!) I couldn't help noticing that they were having a little conversation up ahead, hissing in each other's ear. I assumed it was about the various rudenesses I'd committed since my arrival. Nice to know I was having such a positive effect on the local populace!

Once we got to the stables, I explained how the horses must be put; one of the three I had disliked Desert Rose (the horse Just Arya had) kind of homicidally, so they must be as far away as possible. I settled them in, making sure there were as few possible hazards as possible – there's something about unbelievably expensive horses that makes them want to seek out injury. One time, I had a horse on box rest who got so bored he jumped out over the bottom half of his door, ripping a good deal of skin and even a little muscle off, resulting in an even longer period of _enforced_ box rest. Anyway, I digress.

On the long walk back, my two stupidly lovely escorts were asking me if I would like to be shown to my lodgings. Do they have some kind of fetish with archaic words or something? Or is it just me? I (not-so) politely declined, smiling slightly at their looks of disbelief.

"I'll show you why when we return to my lorry." I stated impatiently, almost jogging along to keep up. What is it with them and not waiting for us mere, unattractive mortals?

Once we arrived, I unlocked the jockey door and showed them my extensive Oakley HGV. I pointed out the luxurious bed, beautifully fitted loo and shower room, large, light giving windows _with_ emerald-green blinds, microwave (after explaining what it did) and various other mod cons. I smiled at them in a manner as patronising as possible.

"As you can see, I'll be fairly comfy where I am," I iterated. "Please, feel free to show me somewhere I can park more permanently." _Burn_, I thought, suppressing a triumphant grin. It was a hollow triumph, but still a triumph over the holier-than-thou elves.

Said elves conferred with looks. I gathered from my previous experience that they were talking through mind contact. Hmmm, if every elf can do that, it would definitely increase my chances of annoying them all in one go. I started compiling a list in my mind of the most irritating things I could think of, starting with none other than the infamous Justin Bieber.

Yeah. I probably need help. Mental help.

"Very well," replied Just Arya to my 'request', "We shall show you somewhere to 'park'." She said it awkwardly, like it was in a foreign language. We exited the living area, closed the door and folded in the steps, and I got into the driver's seat, opening the passenger door for Just Arya and Negative-IQ.

Once we had arrived at my designated parking zone, I started pushing the buttons required to turn the engine into a generator. Nice, quiet, eco-friendly and I have a fairly limitless power supply. Insert contented sigh here.

"Toodles!" I turned my head, almost throwing the word at them while I pretty much hurled myself out of the cab and almost sprinted to the living zone's door. I started to straighten the place, skipping out the horse area (note to self: horses + long drive + transition to new world = one awful mess) and I moved as much of the horsey stuff as I could to the back. The cab was extending (I pushed that button while I was getting my generator sorted) and I was sorting out my bed and wardrobe.

"What do you mean by 'toodles'?" I was asked, the inverted commas audibly dropping neatly into place. They were probably too scared to do anything but behave themselves impeccably around the oh-so-perfect queen. I almost was, but then, I prefer to use my powers of irritation to make authority figures lose themselves in a highly amusing fashion.

It means 'good-bye', 'farewell', 'adios', 'au revoir' and so on, but in a less formal manner." I smiled and continued, "As you've probably already noticed, I prefer the less formal side of things. Anyway, I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow? I mean, somebody's gotta show me around."

I just about caught the look of pure irritation thrown at me by the queen before it was replaced by a very good poker face. I was feeling better and better about my awful situation. Well, who wouldn't want to not share the misery around a little? I know that enjoying the pain I was making other people feel shouldn't make me feel better, but everyone has a sadistic streak somewhere. Whoever says differently is either

a) Deluded,

b) Lying, or

c) Sickeningly good.

As I am happily none of the above, I was letting my inner sadist out to play for a while. I had to amuse myself somehow, and reading the Hunger Games trilogy, yet again, was not going to work this time. Annoying the Barbie-like elves, however, would. I closed the door after they assured me that somebody would be sent in the morning to take me to Just Arya's office. I set up my bed and unpacked my suitcase (read: chucked everything on the floor screaming "Where is it?! Where is it! I know I put my Mr Fwuffles in here somewhere!" Yeah, I still sleep with my teddy bear. Deal with it.) And got changed into my pyjamas. I picked up the book I was currently reading, clambered into my bed and turned the reading light on, having extinguished all the others. I read a couple of chapters and fell asleep. You don't even _want_ to know what kind of screwed-up dreams I had that night. I still can't see spiders without shuddering. No matter how big or small.

The next morning, I was awoken hideously early: the sun was barely up and somebody was hammering on my door. Now, let's get one thing straight – I DON'T DO MORNINGS! That day was no exception. I unwillingly let him in, grunting "What do you want?" While he was jabbering away about something, I made myself a cup of coffee. Even having just one sip made me feel infinitely better. Seriously, coffee is the only thing that makes me feel alive first thing in the morning, so every lorry of mine has an ample supply. Now that the caffeine had begun to kick in, I could actually take in some of my surroundings. Great. It was Mouthpiece/Intruder. The oh-so-perfect elf that was seeing me first thing in the morning. And I'm not such a pretty sight at stupid o'clock. Not that I am anyway, compared to the locals. But, still.

"What is that bitter smelling drink?" I was gobsmacked.

"You mean, you don't know what _coffee_ is?" I whispered, horrified at this god-forsaken place. "I can only imagine how hard life must be for you," I continued, in much the same tone. "What is it like, not starting the day with caffeine to wake you up? I feel so sorry for you." I patted him on the shoulder in a 'there, there, it'll be alright' way.

While I had been saying this, Intruder (as I had finally decided to call him) was standing there, doing another goldfish impression. I figured it would only be a matter of time before he did the 'OK, I'm just going to back away sloooowly with my hands wide open, so you can see that I'm not going to hurt you' thing. I tend to have that effect. Sometimes. Mostly with non-addicts.

"So, what were you babbling on about before I had my life-giving cup of coffee?" I asked, trying to cover the awkwardness of the earlier little 'moment'.

"If you had been listening, you would know that you have been summoned by Arya Drottning to speak with her. I would advise that you dress more conventionally for your meeting. I shall wait outside for you."

I glanced outside and saw that it was raining. "Oh, no, you don't have to get soaked. Wait in here, I'll get changed in the bathroom." I grabbed a smart black pair of silky trousers and a white blouse before heading into the bathroom and locking the door. Carefully, 'cause who wants any male, no matter how good looking, being able to open the door to your private changing zone?

I unlocked the door, stepped out, slipped on a pair of black jodhpur boots and followed Intruder out. Damn. I hate rain. It makes my hair frizz up so much, it turns into an afro. OK, so I'm exaggerating a little, but it does have a major effect on the tidiness of my hair. I dashed back in, grabbed a scrunchie and quickly plaited my hair. I sprayed it with the stuff I use in my horses' plaiting kits – that stuff makes a hairstyle so solid, it could protect you from a meteor strike. All the while, my good-looking guide was waiting for me to step back out in the monsoon-style rain. As an afterthought, I got my long, dark, waterproof coat. White blouses tend to go a bit… transparent in heavy rain, in my experience. If you get my drift.

He led me through the downpour to Just Arya's office. I looked around once we were inside for a peg to hang my mid-calf long coat from. Intruder saw me looking around and asked why. I explained that I would rather not drip all over the floor while speaking with the local elite (not in those exact words, obviously). He started singing an odd tune that stuck in my head and, although I couldn't make out the words due to it being in their melodic language, I liked it. And, like an idiot, I did what I always do when I hear nice music; close my eyes in order to concentrate more on the piece. He repeated it over and over again, and I quickly got the gist of the tune.

Opening my eyes, before he could turn around and see me with them closed like a moron, I noticed the wall bulging into an elegant hook shape. The tree wall was growing, into a hook, as I was watching, in response to a _song_. Unbelievable.

He finished and turned to face me, asking if it was satisfactory. Awe-struck, I nodded yes and took off my jacket, hanging it delicately on the newly-made peg.

"How did you _do_ that?" I said, in a strangled whisper. "What's the trick?"

He smiled. "Singing plants into shape is a skill all elves learn at an early age," he responded, seeming mildly amused and strongly superior. As if there were any other way for one of _them_ (read: stupidly annoying elves) to speak to one of _me_ (read: average, unattractive human).

"Yeah, OK. Enough with the superiority. We all know that you're the best, blah, blah, blah." I _didn't_ say – there is a line that really should not be crossed, no matter how irksome the intended recipient may or may not be. Anyway, I guess that Just Arya heard the patronising conversation, 'cause we were called in just as I was about to deliver a witty, yet stinging retort. Maybe something about cats, catlike features and hairballs.

I pulled myself up to my full height (not so impressive – only about 5'3") and entered the Office Of Doom, Death And Disaster.

**Review! Or I'll set the palomino pony of dooooooom on you! With feather dusters! And err, Oakley are a brand of seriously good, expensive, drool-worthy horse boxes if you were wondering. Seriously, check out the Supremacy. It pops out and everything! *wipes drool off laptop* Damn! How did **_**that**_** get there?**


	5. Chapter 5

Just Arya was sitting at a desk as I entered. She swept her eyes up and down my figure in a judgemental way. I really was not warming to her, and it wasn't just the painfully early morning.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin," my guide that morning said, after having touched two fingers to his lips and twisting his right hand over his chest.

"Atra du evarinya ono varda," Just Arya responded. She turned to face me. "You may be wondering why you have been summoned here," she began. Obviously, she never uses a small word when a larger one will do. Or thinks about simplicity in her sentences. Hello! What's wrong with the active? She continued: "I have decided to inform you of a basic history of our world, for I am assuming that you are to be here for a long time. I have asked many of our most experienced and powerful spellcasters, and all have agreed that returning you to your own world is not, as far as we can say, possible."

Shell shock. "What do you mean, _spellcasters_?" I demanded, squeaking on the last word and clearly freaking out. Seeing a tree react to a quiet song and learning about magic are two entirely different things. "And _not possible_ to get me home?!" Yes, I was panicking. What else do you expect a girl who has just learnt that she is going to be cut off from her world _forever _to react? Coolly and with calm acceptance? Not this diva.

Her only reaction to my panic attack was to raise her angular eyebrows. After I had toned the outburst down as far as possible, she began. And boy was it long. As she neared the end, I was thinking longingly of coffee in a Thermos. Then she started off again, just as I thought she had finished. Well, if the first section, with _the dragon war_ (!) was tedious, the second, about the Fall of the Riders and resulting wars (I could hear the capitalized letters in her pronunciation) was incomprehensible. It got to the stage where the only words I could understand were 'and', 'the', 'it', and so on.

"And so the mad king was defeated by Eragon Firesword Argetlam Kingkiller Shur'tugal Shadeslayer Bromsson, now Grand Master of the Dragon Riders' Order." Wow. Long name and maybe just a little bit over-titled. "We have enjoyed almost a century of peace since his life was extinguished." Sounding just a _leetle_ too happy there, over the whole 'life was extinguished' dealy. Said with a tiny bit too much venom for a history lesson. Remind me never to get on _her_ bad side.

"And this affects me how, exactly?" A shocked silence descended upon the room. I think we all know what kind of firework display was coming my way next, so I'll skip right over that part.

After the impressive tirade of the elven queen had petered out, having lasted several hours and greatly inspiring me, I spoke up. "I guess I made a social faux-pas, then." Fully stating the obvious is one of my many talents. The others include making amusing insults and modern art (not that hard – just drop a load of paint on a canvas, wipe it off and sell the result for £20 billion).

By the exasperated looks on the faces of my (not-so) loving audience of Just Arya and Intruder, I could see that I was starting today true to annoying form. Whoop whoop. "By the way, what's your name?" I was addressing Intruder here. It would be a good idea to know what to call him in future.

"I am named Thuviel, for an ancestor of mine. He was a great hero in the first war against Galbatorix and saved the eggs for the future." Odd names, but why should I care? I now had new ammo – annoying nicknames based on his real name. I started contemplating the possibilities, smiling faintly to myself in a way that would have made anyone who knew me begin to look for cover, instantly regretting whatever it was they had just said or done. Sadly for them, happily for me, they didn't. Now, they _both_ know better. *Insert demented evil-genius grin here*.

"Great, thanks Thuviel. Well, if I'm stuck here, I may as well understand _something_.Could somebody _please_ explain to me what you did when we entered the room. The whole lip touching, hand twisting and – I'm just guessing here – ritualised greeting and reply." They were both just falling over each other to explain their ways to the human newcomer. As you should be able to tell, I was using the great and mighty gift of sarcasm. They stood/sat around like lemons. Looking at each other. Oh, wait. Mind-to-mind stuff. Again. How irritating that I can't eavesdrop on their private conversation.

"Very well, you will instruct her," Arya finally spoke out loud. So, I had landed myself a teacher on Day 1. Oh, well. At least I would know if I was unintentionally crossing any lines, leaving more room to concentrate on annoying them and giving me yet more ammo. You know what? Sometimes, I love being me.

"So, what's my schedule? Can I return to my lorry first? 'Cause I'd really like to get changed," formal wear is kind of uncomfortable for me, unless it's riding gear; I'd far rather be in an old t-shirt and scruffy trackie-bums than a million-pound dress.

"Very well. I shall be waiting outside your lodgings in an hour. Be sure to be ready." Wow. Curt reply or what?

So I got changed into my oldest, most comfortable pair of navy-blue tracksuit bottoms and a grey t-shirt bearing the phrase '_Every Day I'm Forced To Add Another Name To The List Of People That Piss Me Off_'. Recently, for some strange reason, that list had been growing. With speed. To kill time, I read. Great Expectations, to be precise.

I heard a knock on my door. Ah, my lovely, unsuspecting victim. I mean, teacher. I opened it, holding the book open while commenting in a distracted fashion; "You know, Pip starts the book off as a really sweet kid, but once he gets his money, he turns into a right prat. What's my first lesson?" my wonderful teacher seemed to be taken aback by the random course my thoughts were taking.

"Well, at least I know you can read. Many human children, especially the girls, are never taught."

_Especially the girls_?! _What kind of sexist world _is_ this_? I resolved to educate my peers here in the history of the suffragettes and suffragists as soon as possible. Focusing heavily on the suffragettes and their methods of getting equality, of course (you know, bricks through windows, firebombs in the post, etc.).

"Listen, dude. I've been reading since the age of three. Don't patronise me about literature." Seeing the confused look on his face about the word 'dude', I mentally facepalmed. Boy, did I have work to do.

So, now for the checklist titled 'Is My Life Going Down The Drain?' So, what's been happening to me in the last few days? Well, I

-Was dumped by my boyfriend.

-Moved house, probably losing several valuable family heirlooms in the process due to incompetent removal men.

-Lost my whole _world_, quite literally.

-Arrived somewhere populated by freakishly perfect beings…

-… Who aren't human and look down on me for being one.

-And I have no hope of ever getting back. Whoopee.

-On top of which, I have a teacher who has no clue what I'm going on about half the time and looks down on me due to my species.

So, yes. My life is currently going down the toilet. _Whoohoo_.


	6. Chapter 6

So, Lesson 1. Etiquette. What fun I shall have with my oh-so-charming teacher Thuviel. I kinda guessed he disliked me and the rest of the human race, judging by the slight disgust he showed whenever he said the word 'human'. On the bright side, the weather had cleared up a bit. Instead of monsoon-worthy rain, there was just a grey layer of clouds covering the visible sky.

"The first thing you must know if you are to live here is how to correctly greet another person. You must touch your fingers to your mouth – this means 'We shall not distort the truth during our conversation'. This is followed by the phrase 'Atra esterni ono thelduin', which is said by the one who is lower in rank," pointed glare at me "or by someone who wishes to honour an equal." and he went on and on and on. Although I had brought a note pad and pencil, I was using the pad to hide 'I'm bored' yawns rather more than I was using it for its original purpose i.e., taking notes. I'm not sure if he noticed or not, but I did catch a few irritated glances my way when I was attempting my maths class survival technique – spacing out and daydreaming about the cute guy in front of me. Except now, it was just daydreaming… I've temporarily sworn off guys, especially racist cat-like elf ones.

"Have you even been listening to me?" he demanded. Hmmm, a little red in the face there.

"Sure," I replied, waving my pad in the air at him. I had been trying to stave off Death by Boredom by taking notes up to that point. There were also various doodles in the margin. You know, eyes, faces, horses, knives dripping with blood. The usual.

He took it from me and scrutinised my notes, eyes widening slightly when he saw either (a) the detailed quality of my notes or (b) the detailed quality of some of my pictures. Yeah, I have a slight emo side that escapes through the medium of Doodle. But then, doesn't everyone? Pausing at one of my more intricate sketches, he flipped the pad over to face me and demanded to know how I (a lowly human) learnt to draw like that.

"Well," I began, "I chose art as one of my GCSEs 'cause it seemed so much more… interesting and fun than, say, history or geography. All we needed to take to a lesson was an iPod and earphones. The arty-farty stuff was provided by the school. we'd rock out to the latest tunes while splashing paint around. I excelled in the medium of a soft graphite pencil and in using smudges to give depth and shading. I was totally rubbish when it came to paint or inks, but nobody could beat me when it came to sketching. It's all about looking at what you're drawing from as many different angles as possible, seeing the varying patterns of light and shade as your viewpoint alters. Once I have a thorough understanding of my subject, I can start to draw." He looked gobsmacked. I must admit that it was quite possibly the longest speech I had made in his hearing, and it sounded quite… artistic, but it wasn't really that much of a big deal. Maybe his astonishment meant that prowess with a pencil was quite a rare thing in umm, Ellesmera, they called it.

"It is so detailed, so lifelike," he exclaimed, looking at my quick scribble. He moved his hand, comparing it to the one I had drawn "Exactly the same," he murmured, temporarily forgetting to acknowledge the genius artiste. Yes, I had drawn his hand. So what? I. Was. Bored. So very, very bored. His face went blank, his eyes looking into the middle distance "We must visit Arya Drottning, she has something of great importance to discuss." he said, snapping back out of his reverie.

Great. Another conversation with the queen of the stuck-up elves.

He led me through the forest, still holding my pad and occasionally looking at it in wonder and astonishment. _It's just a hand_, I thought. _Get over it. _That, judging by the expression on his face, wasn't going to be happening any time soon. We reached the stables and he told me to get one of my horses ready. I quickly brushed Desert Rose, a sandy palomino mare, and tacked up, treating her with more polos than really necessary.

I followed him through the never-ending forest for some time, grateful that both I and my horses had a strict fitness schedule and that I ensure they are both flexible and agile. We kept up with my patronising teacher on his smaller white horse that had clearly been bred for the forest.

We reached a slightly overgrown clearing far away from the main clearing where I had first been interrogated by the queen of the snooty elves. We dismounted and I kept a firm hold on Rose's reins, looking around I could see we were on the edge of an outcropping of white rock. Tucked away next to a stream running along the edge of the open area was a hut grown between four trees. My guide followed my gaze.

"The home of the Cripple Who Is Whole," he said. "He preferred to live in isolation." I was about to ask more questions, when a drastic change in air pressure stopped me.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

My ears were almost bursting from the rhythmic waves of pressure coming from above. What was going on? I looked up. Bad move. The sky above us had been eclipsed by a huge green belly, a similar green to my beautifully tended lawn at home. Oh, crap. It was scaly. This could mean only one thing.

Dragon.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I clenched my fists, holding my arms stiffly by my side. My calves were almost cramping, I was so tense. My heart, previously at a normal pace, having quickly recovered from the run through the forest, began a rapid tattoo against my ribcage, almost as if it were trying to break out and get away from the body that was convinced it was about to get eaten by the huge emerald-green dragon landing in front of us. Rose wasn't feeling much happier.

Thuviel, seeing how tense I was, put a hand on my shoulder. I glared at it. If looks could kill, his remains would be smouldering, blasted against one of the unbelievably gigantic tree trunks around us. The only problem was that the tree might get hurt. Ignoring the Death Glare being sent in his direction, he bent over and placed his mouth by my ear. I stiffened even more, if that were possible, uncomfortable with his proximity. Let's get one thing straight – I like my personal space. I like it a lot. And he had just _invaded_ my personal bubble. Before I could turn around and attempt to deck him, my beloved teacher began to speak into my ear.

"Do not fear Firnen, he is the dragon of the queen. You shall not be harmed by him." I turned my head to *look* at him, unleashing my full Stare of Death. He got the message, moving away sharpish and removing his hand from my shoulder. I relaxed a little. _No overgrown iguana's gonna scare me!_ I resolved, completely releasing the tension in my strained muscles. I took a deep breath as Just Arya dismounted from her dragon and began to gracefully make her way across the clearing towards us.

"Eragon Shadeslayer has sent the next lot of eggs for the new Riders," she spoke without any of the courtesy or special greetings that I had written down oh-so-carefully not long ago. She shrugged a bag off of her back and opened it. Inside was an assortment of coloured stones, I mean eggs. Each was in its own separate pouch and I counted six. I felt oddly drawn to one in particular. A deep purple with veins of lilac running across it, it was the smallest of the clutch. I couldn't keep my eyes off of it. The two elves had been talking to each other, completely ignoring me and my reaction to this egg, which was just how I wanted it. I devoured it with my eyes, committing every little nuance to memory. All of a sudden, Arya turned, breaking off the conversation, and noticed how I was staring into the bag of dragon eggs, focussing on one in particular. As if in a trance, I moved my hand forwards, towards the egg that had captured my attention. I didn't see Arya *looking* at Thuviel as he reached for my arm in an attempt to stop me, nor did I take any note of the speed with which he recoiled said hand. My world had narrowed to me and the egg. I _had _to touch it. I was hooked.

I blinked, my hand still on the smooth, cold egg. I saw Arya's face flash slight annoyance as I withdrew my hand from the bag of dragon eggs, followed by a glance shot so quickly at Thuviel that I wasn't sure if it had really happened.

"It has awoken," she whispered, almost unconsciously. I was mystified by what she could have meant. Then the penny dropped. Great, just great. A dragon was hatching for me. All my chances of ever going home had just flown out of the window. "Keep this egg by you at all times. When it hatches, see me immediately." The order was delivered in a voice that invited no disagreement.

She took the deep purple egg out of its pocket and placed it in a silky pouch which was then handed to me. I was shown how to clip it onto my belt so the egg wouldn't fall out.

"It takes about a week for the dragon to hatch after coming into contact with the right Rider. Once you have returned to your lodgings, change into something more… formal and I shall send somebody to bring you to me for another talk." Yet another thing to look forwards to, although I was feeling excited, despite the whole 'never get home' thing. I mean, a _dragon_ is going to hatch for _me_! Wow. Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. Who could have guessed something like this would happen?

The return journey passed in somewhat of a haze. I was still digesting the information I had been given as we turned into the stables. I untacked and brushed off Rose's saddle patch and scratched her behind her ears on automatic.

Back in my Oakley, I decided on a snazzy black skirt and white ruffled shirt combo, topped off with a cropped black blazer. I may be very much into the more practical side of horses, but I _always_ ensure I look smart at the trotting up.

I heard a knock at my door while I was deciding what shoes to wear. Having plumped for the black ankle boots, I slipped them on, did them up and opened the door. Outside was an elf I had not seen before.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin," he began. In shock, I gave the correct response. Fighting a grin, I stepped down. "Arya Drottning sent me to collect you," he explained to me.


	7. Chapter 7

On the way to Miss High-And-Mighty's office, I was turning over the facts in my head. Thinking about why I could have been summoned to meet her. I mean, I knew it had something to do with the dragon egg, but I wasn't sure exactly what was going to crop up. Another, smaller, part of me was mulling over names for my new dragon and my most shallow bit was wincing about the mud on my boots. Yes, I squashed it down with the argument that shoes can be cleaned.

This time, unlike all of the others, I could see some of the inhabitants of Ellesmera flitting around. I guess they were curious to see the lowly human woman from another world who was soon to be a new dragon Rider. *Sigh*. They were all, without exception, stunning. Although, some were sort of… unsettling in appearance. I caught sight of an elf who was brindled brown, covered in fur. Tell me that's normal, and I'll sign your one way pass to a padded cell.

As I waited outside her door, stewing in my panic, I could hear a new voice; male and slightly rougher than the melodic tones I had been listening to since my arrival. I strained my ears, eavesdropping shamelessly.

"Yes, Eragon," I could hear Arya saying, "She is waiting outside my door now. Prepare to meet a new student." I lost his reply, quickly straightening up in an effort to _not _be caught listening in on a private conversation. The key to not getting caught is to not look too innocent or too guilty. Those sort of things set off alarm bells in anyone's head. I quickly made my way over to the wall and made a show of inspecting the intricate patterns grown into the walls.

The door was opened and I could hear an impatient noise, one that would be made at the back of the throat of, say, an elvish queen. It was the kind of noise that means 'and if you are _quite_ ready', the kind of noise all teachers would dream of being able to make; it demanded attention and invited no refusal.

I turned, giving Arya my biggest, sunniest smile in an attempt to unbalance her slightly. I did enjoy seeing her being taken aback, her flicker of pure uncertainty before carefully reassembling her mask of quiet self-containment. She stepped back into her office, motioning for me to enter.

I walked in, unconsciously fluttering my hands over my clothes to smooth out any creases. I felt like I was about to go into an exam. I turned, looking around the office. My attention was caught by a full length mirror commanding most of the wall in front of me. A mirror that had previously shown the wall opposite, as normal now, though, showed something entirely different.

"Ohmygosh!" I exclaimed without pausing between words. Or breathing. "You've got Skype!" My first reaction was entirely understandable as the image of a man filled the mirror. It looked just like webcam chat, only the picture quality was much better. Although, with _my_ webcam, that's not really saying much. Let's just say it's not exactly top of the range. His look of confusion when that sentence burst out was just adorable. Flicking through my notepad, I found the phrase needed. There was no doubt that this man/elf/dude was way, way, waaaay higher than me in the pecking order. "Um, atra esterni ono thelduin," I carefully enunciated the foreign words, having touched my fingers to my lips. He made the expected response and then, my eye just catching it, I replied with the optional third line, mentally wiping my brow after these linguistic gymnastics were over.

Taking another look, I saw that he was fairly attractive, if you like that sort of thing. He looked like he was neither elf nor human, but somewhere in between, listing towards the elf side. His eyes were serious and thoughtful, but had a lively glint. He was dressed like the admittedly few elves I had seen, in a soft tunic of muted natural colours and leggings in a complementary tone. The mirror cut off just below his knees, so I couldn't see what his shoes were like, but I guessed they'd be the soft boots I had seen pretty much upon arrival.

"Okay," I started, "I can see from your nonplussed faces that you have no idea what Skype is at all, so this is not it. Or maybe it is, but you have a different name for it. Anyway," I said, dragging the last word out so that it sounded more like 'air-knee-waaaay' "I'm just gonna shut up now, so I don't put my foot in it any further." I was having a hard time choking back the giggles that wanted to bubble up in my throat.

He blinked, mentally shoving away my statement, then turned to face Arya. "Which egg was it?" he enquired, showing nothing more than simple curiosity on his face, but in his eyes… well, that was an entirely different story.

"The purple," came the response. He drew a shocked breath in, turned and looked at me, his gaze piercing a hole in my skull, burning into my own eyes with such rabid intensity. I almost shrank back under the force of his searching glare.

"Saphira," he breathed, seemingly unconsciously. "Saphira's" he trailed off into a mumble, the words so low and slurred together I couldn't make out the gaps between words, or even start to _guess_ what words they could be. His words rising out of the blurred murmur, he looked up at me again, then moved his eyes to rest on Arya. "I shall be her teacher, not any of the others." I couldn't make head or tail of this. He was obviously a leader. No, not _a_, but _the_ leader. He had power, even _I _could see that, so why would he choose to tutor me personally when he could have assigned any of his subordinates, any of the underlings to do so instead? It made no sense. To me, anyway. Arya, on the other hand completely understood.

"I understand completely," she said, confirming what I had guessed. And then the penny, hovering in the air for the entire interview, finally dropped.

"No. Way. It's, it's. Ohmygosh!" I was having serious difficulties formulating a full sentence, but I somehow pulled myself together long enough to continue. "_You're_ the Eragon she was going on about in the potted history lesson!" 'She' being Arya, at whom I was pointing. "But that would make you, like, over a century old!" I was having a hard time believing it. After all, he looked like he was about twenty-five, maximum. But if what Arya had told me was true….

"Yes, I am he. I am the one who slew the Shade Durza and the Mad King. I am Eragon, the first free Rider of Alagaesia since the Fall." Wow. He seriously needed to update his syntax. He came off sounding like an old age pensioner. But he was over one hundred years old. That thought alone made my brain ache.

We discussed some topics, him looking to find out more about me, asking all sorts of small details; my age, the state of my education, my family, whether I had any siblings, my profession… those sorts of things. I guessed that he was trying to get a feel for who I was, if you know what I mean. He was trying to figure out what kind of person I was.

Soon, though, his attention was caught by something outside his study. He gazed distractedly out of the one visible window, apologised, and the mirror went back to being just an ordinary mirror. I was not, however, to be released just yet. Oh, no. Arya still had some torture planned for me, I could see it.

"It is my duty to inform you of a long-standing festival, the Agaeti Blodhren, or Blood-Oath Festival. It marks the formation of the Dragon Riders as an order, and the signing of the pact. It is customary for every attendant to contribute to the festivities. Some write poetry, others show their skill with gramyre – magic" she clarified for me. "I tell you of this only now, for, as the newest Rider, you _will_ be expected to contribute, whereas you would not have been expected to, previously." I was already turning this over in my mind, already deciding what to do. "I shall leave you to contemplate your contribution to the festival. If you feel at any time that you need help, do not hesitate to ask."

"But I already know what I'm doing," I half-smiled at her. "Poetry in motion. All I'll need is a light to follow me and to clarify the movements." Closing my eyes, I looked down in recollection.

"What do you mean?"

I moved to the door. "Let me show you."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Okay, I know some of you are thinking 'this is so clichéd, she's becoming a Rider', etc. but bear with me – I have some pretty good plans to make Eragon and the other adult Riders go mental. Plus teaching the Alagaesians how to part-ay properly. I'm also planning to get her talking about her family, so if anybody has any ideas for her 2 years older brother who is a high-flying businessman, please let me know!**

**Thank you for your patronage.**


	8. Chapter 8

_**.:FLASHBACK:.**_

I was in my brother's car; he was taking me out to lunch to celebrate my birthday. My *new* iPhone 10s started ringing (it was another 'little' birthday treat he'd given to me and, although I prefer my lovely brick, I felt I had to use it, if only so as not to hurt my dear big bruv's feelings. I just swapped my SIM card over so I could still receive any vital texts and calls until I could get my beloved Nokia brick back up and running, having dumped the over the top smartphone) I checked caller ID – it was Alice, one of my friends on the circuit. Accepting her call, I turned the radio of my show-off big brother's shiny new red Porsche to mute.

"Hi Jazz!" she started, "Just wondering if you could help me out." She had been given the task of organising some demo for the British Open. I wasn't really interested – that was the week I had chosen to rest all of my horses, doing nothing more strenuous than hacking out. "The rider who was going to do the dressage to music demo's broken his leg and done it pretty badly. Completely crushed his thigh. There's no way he'll be able to ride. Could you fill in?" _What_? My one week's R and R gone. Fab. But, what are friends for, huh?

"Sure, Ali, I'd be delighted to," I replied with a resigned sigh, "Just tell me which of my horses you think would be best."

"Oh, no. Don't worry about that; we've already got a horse lined up. A pure white Andalusian mare, named Swan Lake, or Swan for short." Ok, I was freaking out here. A _pure Andy mare_. Every dressage rider's dream horse, the Andalusian is the perfect combination of beauty, grace, elegance, intelligence and all of the other ideal characteristics. I mock swooned, mouthing to my oh-so-loving big bro when he looked over at me with and expression of worry on his face; 'Andalusian. Free ride. Dressage to music.' He understood; he had not been forced to listen to me gushing about the pinnacle of perfection that is the Andalusian horse for nothing. Only he knew to which heights stretched my obsession with this Iberian breed. He mouthed back; 'I'm very happy for you', just as we pulled in to the restaurant. I took one look and just knew it would be one of those fancy £1,000 for a bread roll type meals. Oh, joy.

Anyway, I fell in love with Swan when I met her. So eager to please, so light in my hands and her paces were beyond description! Suzie recorded the final thing on her mobile and sent it to me. Well, I'd had myself recorded doing dressage before on horses I had known and ridden for months or years, and none of those performances looked even _half_ as polished and professional as this ride on a mare I had known only a few weeks did. From the moment we floated in to my final salute we looked almost ethereal, like a ghost horse and rider. Her hooves only seemed to brush the ground, never fully entrusting her weight to something as commonplace as this arena surfacing that probably cost more to put in than the average stable block. We weren't riding to the music, but _dancing_, dancing in perfect harmony with Swan's hooves always falling in exact time with the rhythm of the swells of the orchestral piece that had been chosen for us.

_**.:END FLASHBACK:.**_

It was this recording I showed Arya now. I secretly enjoyed her awed expression while she watched the clip. Although, the awe may have been more to do with my iPhone than the otherworldly pair dancing in the spotlight. It may have been a combination of the two. Who knows?

"This horse," she began, after I had turned the phone off and given her a chance to recover. "Is it yours?"

I smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, no, she is not. That mare has more talent than any other I have ever ridden on the flat. I borrowed her from a… friend." If Arya had noticed my pause, she showed no sign of it, but continued to speak.

"Tell me, is she one of _our_ horses, for I have never before seen a horse to match the beauty and grace of our proud steeds." Taken aback, it took some time to form a reply.

"Oh, um, no, she's not. Swan's an Andalusian mare with a pedigree going back centuries. She's been bred for her stunning looks and ethereal elegance and grace." Yes, I was going a bit poetic here, but who could blame me? That mare was the most amazing horse on the flat I had ever ridden. The only reason I didn't seek out her owner was that she couldn't jump, and I had made a rule long ago when I was just starting out that I would not have a horse in my stables that could not jump. It took all of my strength and willpower to resist her, but I am very good at self-discipline. If I resolved I would or would not do something, I would stick by it.

The small talk went on for a bit longer and I was almost to the point of screaming at Arya to '_get up and LEAVE already_', when she (surprise, surprise) got up and left. Already. I'm not sure if she caught my sigh and expression of pure relief, but I do know she looked a little more reassured than when she arrived at my lorry.

OK, you may be wondering why I called it 'Poetry in Motion'. It was, quite simply, the name given to the demo on the program. Ta-daa!

Unconsciously, I moved over to the microwave and began to make myself some tomato soup. I was a little peckish and felt that I needed to eat something. I sat back, inhaling the vapour rising from the surface of the bowl, and began to enjoy it. Mmm, soup. Anyway, I digress.

Crunching on the final few croutons, I started to rummage through the file of old dressage tests. I photocopy each one I have and file it in each of the lorries and in the tack room for later reference. The one I was looking for was about halfway through the file.

"Ah-hah! Here it is. I _knew_ you were in there somewhere!" smiling triumphantly, I took the test sheet out of its little plastic pocket, leaving the folder open at the place it had been. I read through it, reminding myself of the various movements. After I had read through twice, I turned my iPod on (_another_ birthday prezzie from my _lovely_ big brother) and flipped through my song library until I found the classical piece needed for this. Putting in my earphones, I listened to the composition, trying to picture myself riding to the music.

The next day, I went down to the stables after dinner, pausing just long enough to grab a jacket on the way out. I walked down the aisle, appreciatively inhaling the scent of horse, harness and hay. Giving out treats to my lovely eventers, I began to weigh out the arguments for and against using each particular horse; Rose, while being a total sweetie and always doing her best, just didn't have the look-at-me quality that Angel, a solidly built jet black mare standing about seventeen and a half hands high, did. On the other hand, Angel was much more… temperamental than Pegasus, a flaxen liver chestnut gelding who, when I really thought about it, just couldn't compete with Rebel, a blood bay gelding who, despite his cheeky catch-me-if-you-can outlook in life, was a genuinely talented dressage horse. When I could get him to co-operate. Wait, scratch that. _If_, not when. And Star, the youngest of my string, but still very promising, just didn't have the required experience. Sapphy's strength was mainly in jumping; I'd been trying to improve her work on the flat. The only reason I kept her on was that, in all the time I'd had her, she had never so much as brushed a pole. Not once.

Coming to a conclusion, I decided Angel was the one I would choose for this. Her striking looks, suppleness and natural talent would see me through this coming ordeal. I meandered back down the stable aisle when, hanging over Rose's door, I noticed that she was looking a little more… podgy than was usual. That mare _never_ put on weight. Her feed bill was huge when compared to the other horses' and that was just to maintain her. And now she was getting fat? Taking a closer look, I realised it wasn't evenly spread around her body, like fat normally would be. Nope. It was concentrated around her belly, bulging slightly outwards rather than down. Running through my mental veterinary checklist, I realised it could only be one thing.

My mare was pregnant.

_Great._ Just what I wanted.

NOT.

How did Rose get in foal? _How_? She had never been anywhere near a stallion unsupervised. Casting my mind back, I remembered an argument between two of the newer – male – grooms when my friend had been lodging her horse with us for a week while a big competition was on in the area. I wasn't going – it was pure dressage and I was an eventer – but I said that she and her horse could crash at my place while the dressage was going on.

It was the day after the dressage had finished and my friend had instructed the grooms to let her German-bred and trained stallion, named Fairy Footsteps, out to graze. Said grooms were fairly new and didn't know how to do things, but couldn't bring themselves to ask. Put it together. Go on.

So, thinking back at it while looking at my pregnant mare, I put two and two together. And got one thousand. They must have accidentally put this blazing orange Dutch Warmblood stallion out with my mare. I knew I shouldn't have had favourites, but Rose was definitely one of them. Her sweet, eager-to-please temperament put together with her sackfuls of talent made her a real crowd-pleaser. I let myself into her stable and began to wind my fingers through her mane.

"What am I going to do with you, hmm?" I mused, getting a gentle blow in return as she delicately turned her refined head to brush my shoulder. "How am I going to sort this out?" I knew that the coming months would be difficult and maybe dangerous for my sweetest mare – there is a reason why most competition mares have their foals via surrogate mother – but I would do my best to make them as comfortable and easy for her as possible. People, to my mind, were selfish, arrogant things, taking exactly what they want when they want it. Horses, on the other hand, had the most generous, kind, _loving_ natures I had ever had the good fortune to encounter. Is it any wonder I felt more concern over Rose than I did about my own situation?

What I had thought of as real life felt distant under the evergreen boughs of Du Weldenvarden and became more so with every passing day. I had already been here, getting talked down to and patronised at every turn, for almost a week now. Things had only begun to look up after I was hypnotised by that egg. I was shown a little more respect – although that wasn't really hard – and the 'bag full of dog doo' expression came up less frequently when I was speaking to Thuviel now. As his student, it was a relief to know that I no longer disgusted him.

In a haze, I drifted back to my Oakley, planning to read a few more chapters of _Great Expectations_ before the day was finished. My deliberations and the shock that followed had taken up almost all of the remaining daylight and, as I had figured out that it was not much long past the height of summer, _that_ was saying something.

In my pyjamas, I leaned against the counter, brushing my teeth – which I'm kind of OCD about, hence the perfect pearly white gleam – and I was still slightly shell-shocked. How was I going to deal with this? From the little I'd gathered, when the dragon inside the goth-purple egg hatched, I'd not only have a serious life shake-up, but go through a change of species, from human to I-have-no-idea-what. Oh, and I'd have to move from the – now almost scarily comfortable – elven city to some place on the other side of this strange country.

At least I'd have Junior to keep me busy. The sheer ingenuity of young animals, especially foals, to get themselves into trouble has always been fascinating and a source of perpetual amusement to me.

I let myself out of her spacious stable and gently made my way back 'home'. The short journey passed more quickly than usual, or at least seemed to. This may have had something to do with the 'mum shock' I was going through. Or it may have been more about how chilly and creepy the forest was at night. Possibly a mixture of the two. Either way, I was definitely happy to get back to my lorry and snuggled up nursing the remains of a hot chocolate.

**A.N. – thanks to**___**eragon0123**__**, **_**my lovely new beta! Round of applause, everyone! **


	9. Chapter 9

The next few weeks passed in a haze of practicing and learning my dressage test, assorted lessons with various too-perfect elves, and staring at the deep violet egg.

It was late at night when it finally happened. I was getting some sleep when I was woken up by a high-pitched squeak. I reached for the generator torch I kept by my bedside and, having turned it on, trained the beam onto the polished egg. At first I thought that the issue was on my end, but I have always had hands as steady as rocks. What I soon realised was happening was the egg was shaking. As I watched, the vibrations became bigger and bigger, and increasingly pronounced until, with a sharp gunshot-like crack, the egg almost burst apart and, sitting in the wreckage of the marble shell, still drenched in the egg fluids, was a tiny purple dragon.

Seemingly unaware of my intently focused gaze, the tiny reptile began to lick itself off, almost like my yard cats had at home. It then stretched out its limbs, finishing with the velvety bat-like wings. The torchlight shone through the translucent membranes and gained an eerie purple hue on the other side. I carefully made my way over to the newly-hatched creature in order to obtain a closer look. The scales were jewel-bright and the eyes were a captivating amethyst.

"Hey, there," I murmured "Aren't _you_ pretty?" it was more of a statement of fact than a question, and this hatchling was not merely pretty, it was radiantly beautiful. I could almost feel the emotions of a new mother looking at her offspring when I turned my vision onto the baby dragon before me. I stooped to stroke it, as I would a dog or cat, and when the tips of my fingers made contact with the scaled body, a wave of burning ice swept through my veins.

I unclenched my stiff arms from my sides and gradually relaxed my hands out of the fists they had tightened into. That had _hurt_. I eyed the dragon warily; I was not eager in any way to repeat that experience. I chafed my hands on my arms in an attempt to bring back warmth to the chilled limbs, when I caught sight of an irregular silver-white spot faintly glowing on my right palm. I cast my mind back to one of the slightly less boring lessons I had had with Thuviel. It was the gedway ignasia, the symbol or insignia of the Riders. No going back now. My eyes gradually wandered back to the violet dragon and somehow, I knew it would not hurt me. All of a sudden, I could feel a fierce, almost maternal instinct to protect the small creature with a mouth full of needle-sharp, gleaming white fangs, feet well equipped with many razor blade talons and diamond-hard scales covering every part of its body. I steeled myself to touch it, and lifted the little thing into my lap.

"So, what's gonna happen now?" I mused, still in the same soothing tone I had spoken in earlier. I wasn't sure whether I was trying to calm myself or the baby dragon. "I can't go back home now, even if a way was found. Leaving you would most likely be similar to me dying from your point of view, and there is no way I could ever take you home with me. The scientists would have a field day about it all and you'd probably be taken away faster than I could blink. All for my own protection, of course." At the last phrase, a bitter, sarcastic tone crept into my voice. If a dragon ever turned up in rural England, the media, scientists and politicians would have a field day. The young animal on my knee would be hauled off to a zoo, doomed to live the rest of its life in misery, forever alone, always stared at and being poked and prodded by various white-coated 'leaders of their field'. No way was that going to happen. Looking at this vulnerable young thing, I wanted to go out and, if not kill, at least seriously maim any and every one or thing that could _ever_ want to hurt it.

A wave of exhaustion passed over me. It was very early now, and I had been woken up very late by the hatching egg. I stifled a yawn and, gently placing the minute dragon onto the padded bench I was sitting on, made my way back to bed.

I woke up feeling great. Better, in fact, than I had for a long time. And no, it wasn't entirely due to the fact that I had just passed 'that time of the month'. I felt lighter, freer, less stressed and constrained than I had before. In the morning haze, I couldn't quite remember why, but I resolved to enjoy it while the sensation lasted. I rolled over, snuggling deeper into the mattress, and came face to face with the dragon.

"Ah." _That_ would be why, then. I had broken all ties with my own world so that this little thing could live in peace, minus all lab-coated scientists. I mean, I knew there was very little possibility of my return, but, even so, I had subconsciously planning to escape back home if another portal of shimmery air ever appeared. Now, though, even if the opportunity presented itself, I knew that I would not take it. I would consciously make the decision to stay put for the good of this newly-hatched reptile.

I sat up fully. "Come on, then. Better get the day started and then," I sighed in irritation, "I have a certain queen to deal with. Oh, joy."

Needless to say, said queen was just a bit excited. She was almost cooing over this tiny reptile when I walked into her office of sorts carrying the violet hatchling in a bag normally used for grooming kits. The soft blue bag accentuated the deep purple of her diamond-hard scales and kept her away from any prying eyes.

While I was standing outside the door, opposite to the hook that had been grown into the wall on my last visit, noting the hooded cloak hanging on it, I peeked into the periwinkle blue bag and gazed down at the curled up, sleeping baby inside, smiling softly at the sheer cuteness of it. A rare beam of sunlight burst through the heavy cloud cover and the needles of the evergreen forest, somehow managing to hit the jewel-bright scales of the enchanting creature. As I shifted the bag, the reflections spun around the anteroom or atrium of the office and dazzled me with their brightness. It was similar to the reflections of water, but in a rich violet hue. Or maybe it was more like a disco ball? While I was musing about this, a certain elf had opened her office door and was oh-so-politely asking me to enter her lair. Not in those exact words, but the intent behind them was pretty similar.

She strode into the room, the full skirt of her long burgundy dress almost being ripped by the force behind those powerful paces, and took a seat behind her paper-strewn desk. It seemed that, even in this time-forgotten forest, bureaucracy and paperwork were usual.

I gently lowered the bag full of sleeping baby dragon onto the one clear spot on her desk and slowly pulled the sides down, revealing said dragon. Her hard expression melted, and her dark eyes softened. Entirely focused on the dragon, she asked me if I had touched it yet. I extended my right hand to her, palm up, as a method of confirming. The silvery patch was no longer glowing, but it was still very much noticeable. I sighed internally. I had been against any permanent disfiguration to my body since I was thirteen, and tattoos, piercings and so on fell firmly into that category, in my opinion. Although, when I was sixteen and the only girl in my year without pierced ears, I almost did it after school one day, but then chickened out, just before I sat in the chair. Needless to say, I was teased about it a little, but only by my friends who were there with me. It wasn't serious, and it was all in good fun, etcetera, etcetera. Besides, I got my own back on them not long after when I became one of the top ten young eventers in the country. I didn't mention it to them… much.

My attention was caught when the little creature made the most adorable sound and uncurled, stretching like a cat. Its eyes were briefly hidden as the eyelids dropped and rose in a confused blink.

"Hey there, _petit chat_,"

Arya's head whipped round. "What does that mean?"

"Uhh, sorry, what does what mean?"

"What you just called it,"

"Ohhh," a smile unwillingly spread across my face, "_'Petit chat'_ means 'little cat'. It's French, and the way it was stretching…" my sentence trailed off as I caught the irritated look that was being sent my way. She clearly was irritated about something. Perhaps my unrivalled subtlety could gently tease the reason out of her. "What's got you so annoyed?" Okay, I was unrivalled in my distinct _lack_ of subtlety; end quote (my art teacher when another girl stormed into the classroom, shooting daggers at a boy cowering in his chair on the far side. Guess who shouted out 'What's got _your_ knickers in a knot?' No prizes given out)

An exasperated huff came from the other side of the desk. I could tell that her people did not usually show their feelings, but one look at her while I was in the room would show just how much my presence affected her. Nice to know someone around here actually has emotions, even if they are pure irritation and directed at me.

"_It_ is a _she_!" Arya almost shouted. Wow, I hadn't noticed that I was getting to her that much.

**Sorry on two counts:**

**1) That this chapter is so short – I've been having some issues with creativity. I just can't seem to be able to write, although you should all be pleased with what you have got; originally, you were only going to have 957 words, before the inspiration struck. So count yourselves lucky.**

**2) That it took so long to post. I've had loads of stuff on my plate recently and, as I am fully aware that it is no excuse, I fully apologise.**

**Review! **


	10. Chapter 10

Of course, the (very expensive) shoes of my horses could not last forever, which was how I found myself standing in the workshop of the only smith in Ellesmera, Rhunon. Her lack of excessive manners was refreshing, especially after a month or so in this quiet, unchanging atmosphere. I had stood watching for a while, admiring her dexterity at her work. No, not work, but art. She was so graceful in her methods of shaping and decorating metal.

In her darkened workshop, near the glow of the blazing fire, I could just about make out chunks of a crystalline metal sitting on a wooden cabinet grown elegantly out of the wall. The figure working the metal finished the job she was doing and straightened up, stretching out her back.

I tentatively called out to get her attention. "Err, hi. Umm, I kind of need some shoeing done for my horses? I was told that you're the best person," _elf, dammit, brain really __**not **__working right now, _"To talk to about this kind of thing. They, err, have rather specific shoeing requirements…" my sentences were more like questions when I addressed her. The elf-woman, although slight in build, was more than just a little intimidating in the way she stood and the way she looked at me.

She waved me in and muttered something that I could not quite catch in the Ancient Language in a rather disgruntled tone.

"Sorry," I said, "I didn't quite catch that. Could you repeat it in a language that I can actually understand, please?" I admit it; I was using a seriously heavy load of sarcasm on the last part of my request but, to be fair, I have had it up to I don't know where with the elves courtesy. It was getting on my nerves, all of the epithets and titles and bits to add onto names depending upon age, gender and status. There were times when I had just wanted to run away and either hide or scream. As a coping method, I threw myself into my horses. Well, not literally, but I worked with them a lot harder than I had been before. I was spending about 99% of my waking time in the saddle, doing groundwork or cleaning up after them.

"I dislike having to speak in this foul language." Her face crumpled up in sour resentment at having to speak English, folding crisply along the light network of lines that were the only indication of age.

"Well, I'm _sorry _that I can't just _automatically _learn a _whole new language _that I've _never so much as heard of _before, but if you would like to speak in a different language I can offer you a choice between French, GCSE Latin or a smattering of Spanish. Or, alternatively, we could just speak to each other in a language we can _both _understand." I closed my eyes in frustration and took a deep breath, tilting my head back slightly; I had barely inhaled at all during my outburst. I had just let out my long-forgotten teenage instincts out on the _one _person who could help my babies' suffering.

I cautiously peeked out from under my lids, mentally wincing at the reaction that I was expecting. What I did not expect was the amused and entertained smile hovering on her lips.

"It is refreshing to encounter someone who does not feel the need to follow the social rules to the letter." Well, I had been informed that the smith in front of me had been alive before the dragons had joined with the elves in the treaty that made Purple linked to me. Apparently she disliked the changes to society as much as I disliked the overdone courtesy. "I remember when we were a fleeting race with lives as short as the humans' lives are now…" the nostalgia went on a bit, needless to say.

I was distracted from the lecture by a brush of movement from the bag sitting low on my right hip. I instinctively reached out with my mind to check if the baby reptile in there was OK. I reached out with my hand and dipped in, brushing the ridges of the amethyst scales very lightly with the tips of my fingers. The young dragon settled down under my touch. I reached further and checked that the nest I had built using leg bandages and other odd pieces of fabric was still in place and keeping Baby warm.

I cut in as politely as I could, although not quite up to my usual standards here. I was appreciating the chance to have some relaxed banter (gotta love some of that witty banter!) with somebody who was as tired of the endless courtesy as I was.

"That sounds fascinating, but I actually came here to ask if you'd mind doing something for me?" my unsure hesitation turned the statement into a question because, after all, she had to have things much more important and interesting than shoeing six horses to do.

Surprisingly, she did not mind at all and instructed me to bring the first of them over in an hour's time.

She took the shoe off of Rose, the first to get her pedicure, and started filing her hooves down, all the while I hovered anxiously like a mother sending her child off to school for the first time. She made alterations to the size and shape and then examined the shoe itself. Now, Rose needs a special type of shoe to help reinforce her heels and I could see the smith was more interested than I had thought she would be, but then what do I know about metalwork? She had started heating them – the shoes had been replaced last time she was shod, so there was no need for a new set.

"What are these for?" she asked, pointing to the stud holes either side of the shoe.

Oh, I put studs in them. They help with grip on grass and also on the roads. It means that, when I'm out doing cross-country or am out on grass at all, I can have a bit more fun and there's less chance of slipping." I searched in my pockets – there's almost always a stud or two that somehow spontaneously grew legs and *walked* in there…

"They are not dissimilar to the dwarves' ascudgalm," she stated.

"As-scud-what?"

"Fists of steel. They will have a hole drilled into their knuckles and a metal socket with a thread embedded into them. Into these they will screw a variety of steel lumps of different sizes and these will protect their fists when hitting objects."

"Ah."

So, my horses done and I had been collected by a random elf, to whom I made some mild insults heavily disguised as compliments and had been taken to the practice grounds that I had been eyeing warily as I exercised my horses. Apparently, I had been decided that I should be, and I quote, 'trained in the art of combat'. While I may not be all that bad on a horse, I have _never_ had much hand-eye co-ordination to speak of, one reason why I have never been in any sports teams at school, although I was eyeing the shooting range (archery field – *What. Ever*) with even more reluctance.

"This is going to be humiliating," I muttered to myself.

I was thoroughly humiliated. I was started off with a light – well, I was _told _it was light – sword that I could barely lift and a very definitely unsympathetic teacher who kept trying to push me to at least the level of someone who had been doing it for their _entire life _and then seeming surprised when I failed entirely to excel at something I had only ever seen in films beforehand. The lesson went a little like this:

"_**Ow**_! That _hurt_!"

"No, do not do _that_, do _this,_" followed by a long and incredibly detailed explanation and demonstration that I could not follow _at all_.

"Come again?"

"Very well. If you feel you are ready."

"No! No, no, no! I didn't mean it like that! N-aah!" My squeals of protest were cut short by the scarily focused elf attacking me due to linguistic differences. I ducked and got out of the way in a futile attempt to keep the bruises to a minimum. "I meant, *duck* could *shoot back several paces* you *hit the ground completely flat, immediately knocking all of the air out of my lungs* explain a- woah! *jump up and back to avoid the sword suddenly swung at me* again." I brought the heavy slab of metal up as my 'teacher' swung right at my head. I knew, in my _head_, that it could not hurt me – I had been informed that wards had been put up around me that would deflect any blow that would break the skin or cause any more damage than a bruise, but knowing is different to _knowing_, you know? I was covered from head to toe in bruises and I mourned the loss of a deep, hot and, above all, _hot_ bath with my favourite Lush product (Sweetie Pie bath jelly – it smells like the flavour of black jelly babies!) to help sooth away the aches and pain. Somehow – _somehow_ – I managed to stop my head from receiving a blow that would have otherwise decimated my brain cell population.

"Very good!" my teacher exclaimed, "Again!"

As bad as the sparring was, the archery was worse. I was not the only human there; a diplomat or ambassador had arrived from Illirea and was practicing his aim along with two others. I was in front of the target next to them, as if my humiliation could not be public enough. I could have put my epic failure down to the comparison between their superior skills, strength and hand-eye co-ordination. But, no. I had to be next to two people with physical abilities and limits much closer to my own.

Although, it _was _some consolation, to see the expressions on their faces when the target to my immediate left suddenly sprouted _two _arrows when the man in front of it shot only one. My archery instructor's face was priceless as well. They had clearly thought that, as a leading athlete, I would have had some training in combat, an area which, unless the laser tag and paintballing parties I had been (forced to go) to were counted, I had never been close to _and_, paintball and laser tag guns are so very different to bows and swords. I mean, well, swords look uncomplicated. The pointy end goes in the enemy, right? Wrong. Grips, balances, cuts, thrusts, blocks, jabs and all that other stuff was whirling in my brain. The archery lingo was not much better.

I had never been happier to see the queen.

"What," I wanted to know, "Have I ever done to you?"

She lifted an eyebrow.

"What? I've never done anything like this before in my life. I am really going to regret this tomorrow. It was verging on _torture_. Where I'm from, we just shoot each other. Bang, dead of a bulletin a vital place or through blood loss. Easy, simple, deadly."

"Your weapon of choice is a bow? You did not appear to be proficient, from what I have heard."

"Uuh, no. Remind me to show you an action film sometime soon… Maybe James Bond or Indiana Jones…"

I had been rapidly running out of my food supplies, having lived off of cereal bars and Pot Noodles for the last couple of weeks. Arya was unsurprised when I hesitantly asked about it, but gave me a slight warning:

"We do not consume the flesh of animals, so you will have to eat the food provided and may not go hunting."

"No worries," I said in my (terrible) Aussie accent. "My deputy head groom is a vegetarian, and she's the one who comes with the team every time we go off competing. The rest of the group is on a rota, and my head groom is the only one I trust to look after my horses when I'm away. And anyway, as I was saying, my deputy head groom is a vegetarian we never eat anything with meat products in when we're with her. It's not a big deal. I prefer to avoid meat products anyway, so I guess I could be kind of semi-vegetarian…"

"Is it usual for your people to eschew* meat?"

"Yup. Do you know what a vegan is?" I took her look of interest to mean that she didn't. "It's a person who doesn't use a single animal product. No wool, no eggs, no milk. They tend to be rather militant and will attempt to enforce their view of the world onto everyone. Some have even suggested sectioning wildlife parks and reserves in Africa and so on into 'predator' and 'prey' sections to avoid 'needless' death of prey animals on the reasoning that, if a friend's dog can eat grass, then so can a lion. Although, I may be over-generalising."

_***I've ALWAYS wanted to use that word :-)**_

_**A.N. – Jasmine is just using 'Purple' and 'Baby' to refer to the dragon hatchling as a nickname because Arya (AKA Snooty Elf Queen) told her that bonded dragons will talk to their Riders and they will choose their name together at about a month and a half old (yes, I do have my battered, sellotape-reinforced, much-loved copy of 'Eragon' next to me and yes, I am going through it carefully to get a proper timeline. And what do you mean, **_**obsessed much**_**? It's a healthy, ummm. Okay. You *may* have a point there…). This is only a few days after she had hatched.**_

_**I would appreciate any ideas you may have that would help to fill up the Ellesmera month or so until she can go off to the new-ish Riders' colony very, very much.**_


	11. Chapter 11

OK, not entirely sure if I want to keep this up, playing with the idea of deleting it ('cause there's nothing more annoying than reading something only to see 'abandoned' in an AN) so I guess this is up for adoption, unless there is a resounding outcry against this (not likely, but I can always hope!) and if it is adopted, I will put up a link on my page to it for all those who want to continue reading it.

Looking forwards to hearing your points of view,

Blue


	12. Chapter 12

Heya, all my lovely readers!

*email voice*  
_"You have **2** new messages."_

_1) My exams are finally OVER! *throws a party* So that means I can finally return to writing my stuff and you can hopefully look forwards to reading some new stuff :)_

_2) I love you all, oh great reviewers and I beg for more attention and more reviews (reviews make me happy and when I'm happy I write more, so you're just doing yourselves a favour if you review)_

So keep reading, keep reviewing and I love you all :)

_Blue_


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